Thank you for your continued interest and support. I appreciate it.
I do not own Merlin or the characters, neither do I own Rules For A Proper Governess.
Arthur's breath went out of him again.
He was surrounded by Gwen's...aka Frankie...lush warmth...her wool skirt falling over his legs and thighs, and her bosom pressing against his chest through his coat.
The tip of her nose brushed his cheek as she kissed him, her lips ever so soft on his mouth.
But the kiss was unpracticed, even clumsy, telling him far more certainly than anything else, that she was an innocent.
She had no idea how to kiss a man, and no idea how to part her lips to let him take his pleasure. And yet, her kiss was welcoming and erotic...a taste of desire he couldn't ignore.
Arthur found his hand stealing to the back of her neck, moving under her heavy braid, pressing her closer.
And as he pulled her to him, he felt her start of surprise, then her body responded.
She closed her eyes, shutting out the lovely brown, as she flowed into him and kissed him back.
And just like that, his arousal roared to life...the part of his body he'd tried to neglect...becoming achingly stiff.
'Why not?' he asked himself. 'This young woman is lovely and willing...she brought me here. If she wants to rob me of everything when we're done...so be it.'
It would be easy for Arthur, and he knew it. He could lay her on this couch, rid himself and her of their bothersome clothes...and just take her.
It wouldn't take long, and for one glorious moment, he could lose himself in the mind-blanking palliative act of coupling.
The young woman made a faint noise in her throat, and Arthur realized, he'd been shifting to take her down to the couch.
But the noise snapped him back to awareness.
What was he doing?
She was innocent...at least of bodily passions.
Other men might not care, deciding that the kind of woman she was and where she lived, gave them the right to take her body.
But he could never be that callous.
He let her go abruptly and sat up.
And watched, as she looked at him from where she'd slid down on the cushions, delightfully mussed and not calming his hardness one bit.
Then she watched him a moment longer, just before she gave him a shy smile.
Arthur had no idea why this woman had kissed him, but he knew it hadn't been because she'd sought favors.
This woman was shy...not coercive or coy. Just shy.
She wasn't selling herself for the watch. And her next words proved it, also her body's natural response, seeing as under his scrutiny, her face heated.
"Now you'll be thinking me a tart," Gwen said, sitting up and brushing back a lock of hair. "But I just wanted to kiss you, all right?"
That made two of them, because, he had wanted to kiss her.
He still did.
"I told you, I'm not a judge," he said, his arousal pounding, as though it wanted release, and was very unhappy he'd let her go.
"The only thing I know about you, is that you're a talented pickpocket, and you'll be giving me back my watch," he added.
At that, he held out his hand, amazed it was rock steady, his tight leather gloves whole, even after the fight in the abandoned lot.
But the young woman eyed his palm in trepidation, while she chewed on a corner of her lip.
'God...she shouldn't do that,' Arthur thought.
The nibbling drew his eyes to her lips, and made him remember the feel of her lips against his, spiking his need to taste them again.
"The thing is, Mr. Pendragon," Gwen said, oblivious to his torment. "If I go back home without something from you, my dad will beat me rotten. I'd rather he didn't, if you don't mind."
Arthur's focus returned, her words making his anger rise.
"Why should he beat you?" he asked.
"He's put out because you got Alban arrested. He sent me to teach you a lesson."
"Did he, naow?" He heard the broad Scots come out of his mouth, as it always did when he grew enraged. "Tell me who your father is, and he'll be in Newgate before the night's out."
Gwen was already shaking her head.
"I don't think I'll do that." She dipped her hand into a pocket in her skirt and pulled out the familiar shape of his watch. "I have to say, it's a fine piece."
"I know it is."
In one swift move, he reached for the watch and yanked it from her grasp.
"Oi!" she said, indignant. "You..." She glared at him, outraged, but with fear behind her anger.
Arthur let out his breath in relief at the weight of the watch in his palm. The watch was intact...as it should be.
But he believed her when she said her father would beat her, if she didn't bring something home to him.
Men in this part of London, often sent their sons and daughters out to steal for them, or their daughters to walk the streets. These children had nowhere to go and no one to turn to, and many of them thought it fine to go out and earn some dosh to help the family.
This young woman was a bit older than many of the game girls, but if she still lived at home with her father, taking care of him, he'd have the upper hand.
Englishmen set such store on women having little power and money, living only to serve the males of the family. And he could never understand why...because he'd seen so much grief come of it.
He slid the watch into his waistcoat pocket, keeping a close eye on the young woman's hands as he did so. She'd taken what she'd wanted when he'd been oblivious on the street, and there was nothing to say she wouldn't try again.
Next, he pulled out a coin and held it towards her.
"Will this assuage your bastard of a father and make him spare the rod?"
The woman's brown eyes went wide.
It wasn't just any gold coin he had clasped between his fingers...it was a gold sovereign...enough to pay for an East End family's meals for a long while.
"You really are a madman," she said in awe.
"Take it," Arthur said. "Before I change my mind."
Gwen stared at the coin for a long moment, but she had no greed in her eyes. Amazement, yes, and wariness, but no greed.
But she knew she'd be handing over the sovereign to her father, and keeping nothing for herself.
"What's your name?" Arthur asked her.
She gave him a sudden smile, one that lit up her eyes and made her so much more beautiful.
"Now, I don't think I should tell you. Even if you were good to Eliza an' all."
"Fair enough."
She reached for the coin, but he pulled it back. She made a noise of protest, and he shook his head.
"This is also your fee for taking me out of here and leading me back to a street I can recognize. Can you do that?"
"'Course I can." She looked proud. "No one knows London better than me."
Arthur believed her.
Because, she'd brought him across the city and into the East End without faltering, ducking around dark corners with complete confidence.
Arthur took Gwen's hand in its worn glove and pressed the gold coin into it.
"Show me, then," he said.
Another sunny grin, and she swung to her feet with energy, her wool skirts brushing his legs.
Arthur started to rise with her, still dizzy from the chase, her kiss, the closeness of the room, and whatever noxious gas was down here that had made him light-headed.
The place really wasn't safe for her.
Gwen steadied him on his feet, then blew out the lamps around the room, plunging them into gloom.
And before he could wonder whether she'd simply leave him there in the dark, ripe for the plucking, her warm hand found its way into his.
"Come on, then," she said.
Gwen pulled Mr. Pendragon out into the dark streets, the sun long gone behind the buildup of clouds.
His hand remained in hers as she towed him along, and his warm strength came to her, making her heart bang in a strange way.
Aldo Foreman was supposed to be her beau, the man she'd eventually marry...whenever her dad decided he could let her go.
When she'd been younger, Aldo's rough charm had seemed exciting to her, but that had quickly faded as she'd grown old enough to know better.
And he had certainly never made her heart go all achy and pounding. And she'd never had the impulse to kiss him more than a peck goodbye...not that he would try more with her dad next to him at all times.
But kissing Mr. Pendragon had been more than an impulse. A need had gripped her, and she had launched herself at him, wanting to kiss the mouth that spoke those rich Scottish syllables.
She'd just about fallen through the floor when he'd cupped her neck and pulled her closer to make the kiss deeper.
She'd wanted to respond, to lay herself against him all the way and see what it felt like to be cradled by his hard body.
And when he'd pulled back, she'd feared she'd disgusted him, that he'd think her a game girl.
But she wasn't.
And she wanted him to know that.
But for one wistful moment, she had wished very much she had been a tart.
Only for him, though.
Gwen led Arthur up another set of steps, the sounds of busier streets coming their way.
It was foggy here, nearer the river, the lights of working London obscured by gray mist.
Her hand tightened on his.
In a another moment, he would snatch himself away and jog off, lost to the fog and her forever.
And she wanted to hang on to him as long as she could.
She knew she had to let him go, though, he didn't belong in this world.
Gwen wagered he lived in a fancy house in some posh square, with a passel of slaveys to look after him.
His fine clothes, neatly shorn hair, and polished boots, told her that.
She pulled him to a halt at the top of the stairs, in the shadow of a wall.
"This street will take you to Fenchurch," she said quietly. "See, there's St. Paul's." She pointed to the ghostly dome outlined in the fog. "Think you can find your way from there?"
"Yes!"
The word came with conviction.
Mr. Pendragon was back in his own world now, arrogance and confidence flowing into him as it had, when he'd stood up and looked the judge in the eye.
He ran a hand through his hair, the light from the main street glittering in droplets, the mists had left.
"My coachman must be driving up and down the lanes, searching frantically for me. He always thinks I'm going to top myself if he's not right next to me," he said.
Gwen immediately thought of the emptiness she'd seen inside him, as he'd waited for the court to reconvene. And again when he'd stood in the street outside the Old Bailey.
She'd seen that bleak look before...in lads who knew there was nothing left in life for them and in girls who'd gotten themselves pregnant by men who didn't want them.
"Are you?" she asked anxiously. "Going to top yourself?"
Arthur pulled his gaze from the bulk of St. Paul's to look down at her. She loved his eyes...a clear blue with a hint of smoky gray that sparkled like diamonds in this light.
"Of course not." He sounded annoyed. "I have wee ones at home. I'd never leave them."
His voice rang with indignation, and Gwen relaxed.
Whatever else went on in this man's head, he wasn't about to deliberately do himself harm.
His expression softened with the beginnings of a smile.
"If something happened to me, Alexander and Anna would have to live with one of my brothers or my sister. I couldn't be so cruel to them...my brothers and sister, I mean."
Gwen grinned.
"Are they lively, then? Your kids?"
"Lively. That's a good word for them."
He reached to touch his hat, then remembered it wasn't there...lost in his pursuit of her.
"Good night, Miss...Anonymous. Go home and stop picking pockets. If I catch you again, I will drag you to a magistrate. And if your father demands you do it for him, you fetch a constable and tell him to send for me. You're a grown woman. You do as you please, not as your dad pleases."
He looked at her hard as he said this, his gaze flickering briefly to her bosom, which rose inside her tight corset.
"Right," she managed to say.
Then he gave her a curt nod.
"Good night, then."
At that, he slid his hand out of hers and turned away.
Gwen's heart squeezed into a tight mass of pain, as Arthur took a step away from her.
And another.
In a moment, he'd be swallowed by the night and the fog...gone forever.
Whether it was desperation...she couldn't say...but she ran a few steps after him, grabbed his hand, and pulled him back to her.
And as he swung around in surprise, she seized the lapels of his cashmere coat, jerked herself up on tiptoe...and kissed him.
Arthur stood still against her assault for one short moment, then he slid both arms around her and scooped her up to him, hard.
Next, he slanted his mouth across hers, parting her lips, his tongue sweeping inside to give her a heady taste of him.
And she moved her tongue clumsily against his, a pleasing shock searing through her cold body.
But his mouth was hot, his lips strong, and his arms around her never letting her fall.
The kiss went on, and Arthur drew her with him into the shadows. He was so strong, but his strength protected and shielded, it didn't demand and frighten.
As much as she could, Gwen kept hold of his lapels, hanging on, as though she'd float away if she let go.
His body was hard against hers, his tallness bending her back. She fancied she spun around with him, the two of them in their own private dance, the hum and rush of the city circling them, in one glorious, colorful stream.
But, alas, Mr. Pendragon broke the kiss, his breath fogging in the cold. He still had her, his arms around her, keeping all bad things from her.
The look in his blue eyes was one of anguish and at the same time, need.
And hunger.
Gwen's heart beat rapidly, and her legs started shaking. She felt him shaking too, even though he was solid and unfaltering.
Then his jaw tightened, and she saw him deliberately suppress the light in his eyes.
After that, he steadied her on her feet and unhooked her fingers from his coat, leaving her cold and bereft.
With one final look, and without a 'good-night' this time, he turned and strode away.
Out toward Fenchurch Street he went, meeting with the mass of London, who swept him up with them into darkness and heavy mist.
Then he was gone.
Arthur laid back with his hands behind his head and contemplated the ceiling.
For hours he'd lain there, wide awake, after persuading himself to go to bed.
His thoughts...which usually wandered during his bouts of insomnia...had fixed on one thing...kissing the pickpocket.
A lady with a beautiful smile and eyes the color of brandy.
The warmth of her lips lingered on his, even though hours had gone by. And no matter how much he told himself to stop his spinning thoughts, and sleep...he couldn't push past the soaring joy of those stolen kisses.
Not stolen, because she'd leapt on him, twined her body around his, and kissed him senseless.
Twice.
And now, every pressure, every movement of her mouth and every stroke of her fingers, was imprinted on him forever.
An anonymous pickpocket with a radiant smile and lovely brown eyes, whom he'd likely never see again...
No...
The efficient man inside Arthur Pendragon, who was able to gather, store, and understand facts in lightning succession, began to sort things through.
His rapid thinking and spot-on conclusions were what made him feared in the courtroom, won the grudging respect of judges, and terrified suspects in the dock.
The young woman had said she was a friend of Elizabeth Baker, for whom he...or at least his junior clerk...had all the particulars.
Miss Baker would know who the young woman was, where she lived, and what her circumstances were.
Meaning, he could track her down within the day, and...
What?
Thank her for the kiss?
Give her more money?
Advise her how to get away from her brute of a father?
Did she even have a job, or was picking pockets her main source of income?
Had she lied to grab his sympathy when she'd said her father sent her out to steal?
Or was it the truth...because, of course, pickpockets were the most honest people on the streets.
At the very least, he could make certain her father left her alone.
The young woman was of age...the plump firmness of her body, the tiny lines that feathered the corners of her eyes, and the worldly look in said eyes, told him that.
She was innocent of carnality, but that didn't mean she was a child. She should have real employment, or someone looking after her.
Something.
The heady wash of the kiss erased Arthur's common sense for a moment, and when his lust cleared again, he laughed at himself.
He'd never be able to track down the girl. Eliza would not give her friend over to a barrister of all people, no matter how grateful she was to him for setting her free.
The girl with the brandy coloured eyes would disappear into the endless drive of London. And he would go back to his chambers to look over briefs, prepare for his next session in court, and try to push aside the pain that accompanied his life every day.
That, and...
"Papa!"
A cannonball landed on his bed, one with small arms and legs, blonde coloured hair, big blue eyes, and a wide smile.
And Arthur succumbed to his son's enthusiastic hug, then pulled back.
"It's the middle of the bloody night, Alexander," he rumbled.
The little boy shook his head in enthusiasm.
"No it isn't. It's five o'clock in the morning, and our new governess smells funny."
"No, she..."
Arthur stopped. He couldn't deny that he got a whiff of cod-liver oil every time Miss Eversleigh walked by him. "
"It doesn't matter," he said. "Miss Eversleigh is your governess. No tormenting her, and no toads in her bed."
"No toads," Alexander said in perfect agreement.
He had the sunniest disposition of anyone Arthur knew, and could also cause more trouble than the most hardened criminals he had ever faced.
"It's too cold for toads," Alexander went on. "But I found some beetles in the cellar."
Arthur gave him a stern look.
"No beetles, no roaches, no spiders. No insects or arachnids of any kind. Understand?"
His son didn't look contrite, but answered,
"Yes, sir."
However, Arthur remained wary. He knew if he didn't catalog specifically what his son shouldn't do, the boy would come back to him later, probably with something absurd like,
"You didn't say no goldfish!"
Stay safe!